Opening Night
by HyperLines
Summary: Mike, having been turned down by every other employer thus far, finds himself desperate for work. Apparently, some new pizzeria is looking for a night guard. Not exactly a dream job, but it'll do. With any luck, maybe Mike will survive his opening night.


**Hello, I am HyperLines.**

 **Welcome to my debut story, Opening Night. Think of it like a little treat to get you psyched for Halloween and also the new FNAF 4 update. If you like what you see feel free to favorite, follow, and/or review (all criticisms and questions are welcomed too). With that being said, sit back, turn down the lights and bring some snacks! Enjoy.**

* * *

Opening Night

The doors. The damn doors are the worst part of a building. Every time a person pushes open a door they might as well be signing their soul away. I mean, that sound, right? It's not just me who hears that? That—that _creak_ and _squeal_ of unlubricated hinges practically shouting out your entrance to the inhabitants. More so than the harrowing shriek is the sense of entrapment. Think about the last time a guy walked into a building, looked around, and walked out. Nope, that never happens, and when it does, the person looks like an idiot. Every time someone goes through a door they have a purpose or objective they're trying to get to, and that's the root of the problem! Once you open a door you're making a commitment, or rather a statement. You're saying, _"Yep, totally. I'm here to do this now!"_ To think we live in a culture where holding doors open for other people is actually considered polite. _"Yeah, thanks, Brutus. Hope you trip over the carpet!"_ My parents have told me time and time again that if you don't reach for the handle, you'll never know what lies beyond. Yeah, well, funny thing about doors, they open both ways. I'd rather just wait for whatever "lies beyond" to come to me. At least that way I'll have the home-field advantage.

Jeans too tight for thighs too breathe, clean shirt still warm from the laundromat, hair still wet from the shower is obscured by a baseball cap, and that quarter sticking at an awkward angle in my pocket. Yep, this is the look of a new employee. Or rather, the insane guy who has been sitting in his car, too scared to enter an establishment made for children. The vehicle's engine had gone quite a long time ago, leaving only the faint noises from the street as ambience. The two hands on my watch told me that I had been sitting there for several minutes.

Yeah right, it feels like I've been staring at this kiddy land for an hour now. Well, if I was trying to secure the pedophile vibe I can safely say I have that in the bag.

In the end, I knew my waiting would amount to nothing. I have to leave my car, I need this job, and in order to do that I have to go in for the interview. This line of thinking eventually dictated my hand to pull open the latch on the door. An action that was answered by a rather cold summer's breeze, and a faint ping signifying I had left the headlights on. The cosmic clock of the sky seemed to be stuck somewhere between twilight and night. A really odd time for an interview, if you ask me. Such thoughts were accompanied the harsh scrape of asphalt on the rubber sole of my shoe. It was the rough kind. The kind of stuff you walk across and can just imagine how bad it would hurt to fall on. The beginnings of the soft cement sidewalk kept my mind from ruminating too much about scraped-up palms. Before I knew it, I was there, in front of a set of double doors.

A similar logo to the neon one spattered across the top of the restaurant was imprinted upon the front of the door, right where a person's face would be. The same insignia had been mirrored on to the left one as well. Both doors appeared to be made of a thick glass, maybe Plexiglas. I don't know, the point is that whatever was on the other side of this door could see me standing out here, so I might as well step inside.

It was deceivingly easy to push open. But man, once it was open, it sure was open.

The amused screams of children bounded off walls that had been painted to look like someone spilled artificial grape juice all over them. Or maybe it was that drink, Purple Stuff, that I heard about in that one commercial. In any case, the effect of how _fun_ and _purple_ everything was had been heightened be these cheesy checkered floors, like the stuff you see in 50's kitchens, which were polished to a mirror-like sheen so as to catch even more color. If the roars of the children were any indication, this effect had not been lost on them.

By the sounds of it, there was large group of them in a room not too far off, which was pretty fascinating considering the size of the entryway. Seriously, why have double doors if your entrance can only fit like three people? This room was essentially short hallway, if it could even be called that, which lead to a podium at the end of it. The plastic-resin obelisk hid the lower half of an employee: a female, about my age, shortish brown hair, like mine but much lighter.

The lady wore a grey security guard's outfit that had accents of purple on the shoulder pads and the cusp of the breast pocket. She looked like the person who you hand your money to when you wanted to enter the restaurant. Not because of her outfit or her location behind the podium, but she had the stale look of someone who hadn't moved all day long.

"Um… hello?" The greeting came across more like a question than it should have.

The woman's downcast eyes looked up from the podium to meet mine. One of two signs that this woman was still alive, the other being her persistent gum chewing.

"Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. A magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun…" Her cheery greeting was cut short as her gaze sharpened into a glare. "Say, aren't you a little _old_ for this sort of place?"

"Oh, um… no, I'm here about the job opening… in the paper? I sent an email a few days ago."

As if it were somehow suspect to chase after a job opening, she gave me a visual pat down from head to toe while blowing a bubble that I was sure would reach my face.

"Huh, you look like one of those nut-bar parents who takes the whole 'and grown-ups alike' bit too seriously. Well, I mean aside from the whole wet-behind-the-ears college look."

Oh, there's definitely a nut bar here, and it's not me _._

"So it's Mike, right? Mike Schmidt? I have you down in the logbook here…somewhere…" Her eyes scanned viciously through the book that rested atop the stand. "Yep, party of one, t' the office. I just need to see some ID first."

Without a second thought I peeled out my wallet from my back pocket and held it open to display my license. Rather than simply taking my credentials, the woman careened her neck in a yoga-like pose in order to read the information. In doing so, a holographic vector of light found its way into my eye. It was her nametag, an ordinarily plain scrap of laminate with black typewriter-like font on a white background. Like seriously, this thing could not have been more underwhelming. Although, there was a winking bear icon in the lower right corner, so that was cool… I guess. The letter spelled out the name _Smith, Fritz_ … Funny, that didn't sound like a girl's name. Nonetheless, I didn't have anything else to call her by.

"Wow, _terrible_ picture." Smith said retracting her neck back to its original position. "But seeing how it is in fact you, Mr. Sha-mit, and not some sort of imposter or evil twin, you can head on back to the office. If you'd just give me your right hand first."

At this point, it wouldn't surprise me if she actually meant for me to pop my hand off and leave it there. I was slightly relieved when I felt the cool touch of a hand stamp color my skin. After Smith released her grasp, the image of a… purple ice cream cone? …had been imprinted on the back part of my hand.

"It's a microphone, and don't rub it off," she barked. Clearly her position here made it obvious to tell when costumers were confusedly staring at these entrance markings.

"Oh, thanks… Um, where was the—"

"Make your way past here, into the dining area, take a left down the hall, and the office is the first door on the right." Smith was also probably used to answering question regarding the layout of the building.

"Oh, thank you again," I said, sliding past the security guard as she continued to blow another pink bubble.

So, with that encounter behind me, all that was left was to head down this hallway and walk to the offices. I could already picture the hardwood desk with the gold and green lamp sitting atop it, just like the ones in the movies. Though, seeing as how this was a kid's place, it would probably be the littered with merchandise and _fun_ posters. Hopefully the interview wouldn't be too… wow, would you look at that!

Having officially made my way past the entrance, the walls opened up into the room Smith had referred to as the dining area. A group of kids sat gathered at one of the three tables that overlooked a sizable show stage. Pizza boxes, paper plates, and cups littered the tops of tables that were already adorned with too many sparkles and streamers. The purple and red tiled floor here was not quite as reflective as the floor back by the entrance, due to spills and pizza here and there. Despite the haphazard state of the room there was a strange order in the way all the heads of the children were directed towards the show stage. I followed their eyes toward the stage to see nothing but a drawn curtain.

"Darn! Looks like we just missed the show!" The security guard from earlier appeared from behind my shoulder.

"Huh? Shouldn't you be guarding the door?"

"Wow, look at mister tough guy. I pop up behind you and you don't even flinch? You're like a statue or something." She punched my arm in a playful manner. "Anyway, Hoss, the last show ends… now. So we're all locked up for the night. I'll send these guys out of here while you talk to corporate."

This woman was more spacey than a bag of astronaut food. But, more than likely, I was the first person she had talked to today who wasn't five, or attending to a five year old. Someone with whom she could actually have a conversation. Either way, I got this strange sense that Smith was somewhat rooting for me. You know, like the same way a Grandma would root for her grandson at his soccer tryouts. It's like they don't actually care what you're doing, they're just happy to have an excuse to leave their otherwise empty houses.

So now that Granny Smith was escorting guests to the doors, it was my turn to take my own path down the corridor to the offices and meet with "corporate." Which of course meant that I had to walk through yet another visual reminder of how _fun_ the color purple is. Thankfully, the walk wasn't that far, until the hallway veered right into… the employee lounge?

It was a room far smaller than any of the other three I had been in, hallway included. A single desk sat in the north most position of the room, adorned with a table fan and a bunch of posters and drawings that looked like they had been done by some of the eatery's younger patrons. In front of the table sat a rather comfy looking chair. Okay, so maybe comfy wasn't the right word, but it was nicer than anything I'm used to. It had this really nice, but slightly worn, synthetic-leather backing and one of those adjustable seat things. I mean, I'd probably get Lyme disease if I sat on my chair for more than a few hours at a time. So compared to that, this thing was awesome. Then there were these monitors… wait, monitors? What are those doing in the lounge? Unless it's _not_ a lounge… but that would mean this is where I'm supposed to…

"Geez, you get lost or something? What's taking so long?" A familiar voice called out from down the hallway.

"This. This is the offices you mentioned?"

Smith shuffled her way around me and climbed into the chair, reclining it to its fullest. "Offices? I never said anything about 'offices.' So did you read the letter or not, 'casue I'm not getting paid overtime here."

"Letter?"

The guard shot forward in synchronicity with the seat. "Yeah, the letter that was sitting on top of the chair." Smith rocked back and forth in said chair before her eyes snapped open, widening in horror as she look down at her lap. Then back at me. Then her lap again.

"Dawh crap."

Smith propped herself up on one the chair's arms and reached underneath her posterior to produce a letter, albeit a crumpled one. After being handed the warmish paper envelope, through an awkward exchange of glances, I proceeded to rip it open and read its contents.

* * *

 **Welcome, Valued Employee**

The Fazbear family would like to officially welcome you to your new job, _. We at Fazbear Entertainment™ hire only the most qualified and mentally competent persons, and you're one them! As a part of our family, you'll be working as the security guard for the daytime/nighttime. We currently have 2 other guards employed at this location that can help you get situated in your new position. If you were able to get into the restaurant to read this letter then one of them should be there now. If, for any reason, a guard is not within the confines of the building at this time you can rest assured that legal action/rehiring will occur within three months. As the daytime/nighttime security guard, your hours are from 12AM - 6AM. You start on Monday, November 7th. Before this date, read the Employee Rules and Regulations that have been emailed to you.

Remember to smile! You are the face of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.

\- Fazbear Entertainment™

* * *

"So, wait. I got the job?" I said, staring at the letter, half in shock. They must have really liked the resume I sent them.

"Wow, way to go, you." Smith's words were drier than then gum she had peeled from her mouth and threw in trash. An action that I'm sure was accompanied by an inner NBA fantasy, if her fist-pump was any indication.

"But I thought you said I was going to meet someone?"

"Yeah, you see, corporate doesn't actually like to come here all that often. Don't know why. So they usually give the letters to people. You know, I only know like two other people who actually work here." She held up two fingers in the air. "…Oh wait, and you! Okay, three people now!" An extra finger shot up on her still extended hand. "Three more and then I'll be able to use both hands!"

This woman's life must be pretty dull if that was all she has to look forward to.

Smith spun around in the chair so that she was now facing me. "So that thing says I'm supposed to help you or something, right?"

Casually holding the letter in one hand I scanned though it once more. It did in fact mention that one of two guards should be here to help. So I guess that made Smith the daytime guard? And if I'm night guard, then the third person must be some sort of higher-up, like a head guard… is that even a real thing? Refocusing on the conversation, I nodded and handed the letter over to her so she could read it for herself.

"Hmm, okay then. Schmidt, follow me." With a snap of her fingers she rose from the chair and walked out the other door of what I had come to learn was the security office. Although it wasn't really a door, more like a gaping opening in the wall. Yet another elegant design choice from the studious minds of Fazbear Entertainment. Having already foregone any hope of redeemable integrity in their architecture, I was not surprised when I found myself in another hallway. Similar to its eastward twin, this hallway was just as purple as ever. However, Smith's outfit did match the overall emotional whimsy of the place quite well.

There was this one thing though, about following behind her. I started to notice that Smith did have a really… um… endowed rear. Okay, I'm sorry. I swear I'm not the type of guy who indiscriminately steals perverted glances at women whenever he can. Which should speak volumes about why I was looking now. I mean, from here, Smith looked pretty hot… Never thought those words would enter my mind. I think she's one of those women who people describe as pear-shaped, or curvy. If nothing else, her backside definitely made up for her lack of a chest… Whelp, there I go again, boiling down a fellow human being to their physical merits. Go me.

Smith rounded a corner, disappearing into a supply closet. How did I know it was a supply closet? I heard the sounds of brooms a buckets banging against the walls as Smith either tossed them or was tossed into them. Every now and again these cartoonish sound effects were interrupted by one of her light, nonsensical curses. Eventually, the noises faded and she returned, carrying a set folded clothes in both hands.

"Okay, I hope you're a size small, because that's all we got," she added, handing me the pile of clothes.

"And these are?"

"Oh, right. _That_ is your official Freddy Fazbear security uniform. I think there's an ID badge in there, too."

"And what does it do?"

Smith looked at me like I had just asked a quantum mechanics question. Her continence shifted to a surprisingly stoic look, complete with a thought-provoking hand rubbing her chin. This brief and rare instance of thought ended with an inner eruption of glee that would have made a volcano jealous. "Okay, so like, you ever read the Batman comics!?"

"You read comics?"

"So not the point, Mike. So, like, you know how in the daytime he's all Bruce Wayne, but at night he goes to the Bat Cave and becomes Batman? Think of this outfit as your bat suit! Like when you put this baby on, you become _The_ _Law_ … of a pizzeria."

…

"I understand the concept of a uniform. I was asking about the ID badge. Does it open a door or something?"

My comment seemed to derail the sudden wave of child-like enthusiasm that had overtaken Smith moments ago. What can I say? She was a girl who liked her comics. It honestly seemed fitting that a person so in touch with their inner child would chose to work at a place like this. I bet during the day she actually enjoyed her job.

"Oh, that? Well, when I say 'ID badge' what I really mean is 'name tag.' ID badge just sounds _way_ cooler, you follow?"

She thinks I'm an idiot.

"Speaking of which, the place was too cheap to make new name tags so you're going to be referred to as…" she forcefully buried a hand deep into my pile of clothes before unearthing a white laminate similar to the one she wore, "…Fitzgerald, Jeremey. Wow, that sounds super geeky. Don't worry about it, though, Mikey. Only the customers will call you that name… and considering you're the night guard, I doubt anyone will ever call you that name."

I stared at the name tag for a brief moment. It was just as bland as the one Smith was wearing. White background. Typewriter-like font. Winking bear icon. Just how old were these things?

"So does that mean your name isn't really Smith Fritz?"

Smith's lips bowed into a frown as her eyebrows bent, forcing her face to transcend frowning and become a menacing glare.

"D' I look like my name's freaking _Fritz!?_ "

"…Um, no?"

"That's what I thought." Smith's face looked like a child who had just been denied ice cream and was now trying to cope with the hatred dwelling within her. That is until the woman pulled yet another complete one-eighty and perked right back up. "So I guess this is goodbye, then."

"Goodbye?"

"Yep, night guards and day guards don't see each other often. And this is sadly all I have to show you. That and it's also like super late, and my favorite T.V. show is on in…" Smith pulled back her sleeve to check what I could only assume was her limited edition Batman watch she won from sending in nine box tops of Bonkers Flakes, "…half an hour. So read that email whatever and listen to the messages on the phone when you get started. But, because I'm great, I'll let you ask any last-minute questions you might have."

I had too many to count as matter of fact. What about the other ninety percent of the pizzeria? What is my job here? How much am I getting paid? Will my paycheck be written out to Mike or Jeremey? If not Fritz, then what is your real name? Where is the phone located? What's on the messages? Why is this place left under the care of like one person? Is dental included in my…?

"That's the spirit! No questions, just roll with the punches! I like you, Mikey." She gave me yet another punch in the arm.

Apparently I had stood there too long thinking about questions rather than moving my lips and asking some of them. God, I hate being left alone in the dark like this. By the time I had brought my head up from it bitterly remorseful position, Smith had already began to make her way down the hall, reciting something from an old commercial as she did so.

"' _Hey, Mikey, she likes you.'_ Ahahahah… god, I am a genius." Smith's voice echoed from the other room.

After a few seconds of standing alone in the hallway, I heard the far-off squeak of one of the two double doors closing. Having just entered the restaurant today, for the first time, I was now completely alone with unrestricted access to every inch of space; it's a wonder this place hasn't been robbed blind. More importantly, this whole trip felt entirely pointless. All I got was this outfit and a letter… that Smith had just run off with. At least I still had another two days before I had to come back here for work. I'm sure that email would answer any other questions I might have. How hard could it be to watch a few security monitors while sitting in a nice chair? I mean, I've never been great at talking to people, as I'm sure Smith picked up on from my sparse interjections. So being alone here might be nice. Maybe I could take stock of my life and finally pick a major to study. Hey, if nothing else this place would make a great stepping stone for a career. That and it would help me get rid of the recent tick infestation at my place.

Despite how cynical I might have initially been when I was scrutinizing this place's interior, there was this certain x-factor that gave it charm. It was one of those places that just feels cozy to be in. Like warm hotel at night. Again, maybe I'm just saying this because of what I'm used to back at the apartment but, that's kind the point of places like this. They work as way to escape your daily troubles. The dark, dreamlike colors scheme and interior barren of windows is made to solidify this effect. They create space that's easy to lose yourself in such a way that time itself seems to stand still. Which, in turn, probably drives pizza sales up. Still, the kids I saw earlier looked so enraptured and happy to be in this place. So, in the end, I like to think it's all about the fun you can without having to worry about the—

My watch let out louder click than normal. This was a newer feature in analogs like mine. Every hour something in the watch would make a loud tick to alert the user about the new time. This click chimed that it had turned midnight. Wow, who knew I had been here this long? Way to go, Fazbear's! Mission accomplished.

A low moan echoed through the hallways, disrupting my thoughts. A sound had taken me completely by surprise, so much so that I dropped my security outfit that I had been holding on to. My clothes now littered the mirror-like flooring. Before I could even begin to reach down to pick them up my vision failed me, and everything went black. I stood alone, petrified to move my body an inch. The once lit hallway was now two shades darker than night. A minute, an hour… no, only a few seconds had past. Thank god my watch is analog. I took a moment to reevaluate what had just happened.

"I'm still standing. In the same spot… That sound… It must have been power going out… Okay, okay, nothing to worry about. It's just like one those mazes… just got to put one hand on the wall and follow it out."

I looked to the right of where I stood and guessed at where the wall was. Turns out I was much closer to it than I thought. I slid my hand down its surface so that I could retrieve my belongings off the floor, a floor did not retain even the smallest amount of heat. Thankfully, this made the clothes stand out all the more in the darkness. I retrieved what I could find and began to count the pieces.

"Okay, jacket, cap, tie... that's everything, right?" I tried my best to relive the moment when Smith was digging through my clothes to see what disheveled pieces she had moved aside when trying to get at my…

"Oh crap, my badge!" Saying these words was weird. Not because they weren't a perfectly logical thing to say in the current situation, but because of the way I said them: hurried, quickly paced, on edge. Why was I scared?

I bent over placing my one free hand along the cold tile floor, looking for the badge. I knew vaguely where it should have landed, but for some reason I couldn't feel it out in the darkness. It was like I had dipped my hand into a murky crucible or something. I couldn't even see where my fingers were. I knew it had to be here somewhere.

…It's me?

I was staring at myself. A blue and red checked version of myself, but still it was me. How was it possible that I could see myself while everything was still cloaked in…

A flashlight! Who the hell!?

Somewhere in the panicked rush I ended up on my back up against the opposite wall of the hallway, looking down toward the security room. At the light… That was it, just a light. From where I laid I could see a square of illumination that had filtered out from the security room into the hallway. This is what gave the effect of a small flashlight being shined at my back.

"It's okay, I'm fine. Yeah. The light in the security office must come on when the power cuts out everywhere else. Probably has to work off a separate power supply. Okay? Yeah. I'll pick up the ID tomorrow and leave with what I have, okay? Alright. There's no reason to be scared. It's a place for children, remember? Kids come here to laugh and smile and…" …and why am I still talking out loud?

I picked myself up off the floor and held the clothes close to my chest, like some sort of security blanket. Placing one had one the wall, I thought back to some words I had heard earlier that day.

"Make your way past here, into the dining area, take a left down the hall, and the office is the first door on the right."

So from where I was that would mean, go down the hall, first _right_ into the dining area, then make your way _back_ there. Being located in the left most hallway meant that I would have to cross a considerably larger portion of the dining area. Still, totally doable… assuming she didn't lock me in here.

With my hand acting as my lone guide through the darkness, I followed the wall down the hallway, and wouldn't you know it, half of me missed being reminded how fun of a color purple was. Still feeling along the way, I made note of when the room opened up into the much bigger dining area. I sucked in some air and took in the victory. One step closer to getting the hell out of here. All that's left to cross is here and the entrance, two rooms… more like one and a half.

My stride grew slightly more at ease as my vision began to come back to me in the darkness. I was able to slowly make my way thought the dining area. I glanced over at the three rows of tables. Party hats now lined the tops of them in neat little rows. From what I could tell, the floor looked cleaner, too. Everything was meticulously stacked and organized in a sterile fashion.

 _At the stroke of midnight it will become a pumpkin…_ That was the phrase that came to my head. Though I doubt the author of Cinderella had ever been to a pizzeria before. This place had very much transformed into something more than a little intimidating. Now, it might have been out of nervousness, but I suddenly got the urge to keep my head focused on where I was going. I felt an animalistic desire to escape this cage. The silence was becoming deafening.

…Then it got comfy…

… _Warm_ , almost…

I stopped in my tracks and looked over my shoulder. "Smith? What are you doing there?"

…I will never know why said those words. I felt her, though. She was watching me. I knew she was there, yet at the same time I knew she had left the building. I had heard the metal creak of the door closing behind her from the hallway… That was the worst part. Why did I still feel this? What was this? _Who_ was this?

… _It's me…_

My body tingled with an adrenal rush. Party hats on the floor. Hip slamming into a table. Hands shoving over a podium. Doors open and doors close behind me. The cold embrace of the night's air knocked me to the ground, scraping my knee on the asphalt. Car door opens and shuts. Key turns and the car is on. I race off without the headlights on. The building hanging in the rearview mirror.

I had made it halfway down the road before putting on the brakes. I see it flapping in the wind. It was the letter from earlier, affixed to my windshield. My panicked driving coupled with the wiper holding down the center of the paper had caused the sides to bend back, obscuring the outer text. The bottom part of it read as follows:

…SMILE, YOU ARE THE FACE OF FREDDY FAZBEAR…


End file.
